


I bring the Pestilence and Plague into your House

by euromagpie



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Dysfunctional Relationship, Gen, Not Slash, Poor Gaius, mad uther
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 11:38:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8142386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euromagpie/pseuds/euromagpie
Summary: In the aftermath of the Purge, Uther has lost Ygraine but he will not lose Gaius, not matter how long it takes to make him see sense. Gaius has a difficult decision to make.





	

It’s been a day since Uther’s horrifying proclamation, and Gaius found himself kneeling in the throne room, his old friend looking down at him with an almost manic glint in his eyes. His voice was kind and reasonable, and it was the contrast that made Gaius’ stomach roil with unease.

“You have been misled, Gaius. I understand. You were too young when you fell into the trap of magic. It is dark and corrupting, but you are a good man. I know this - you have saved my life so many times over the years. You have fought the evil pull of the disease, so I ask you now; refute magic before the court, cast it aside and return to your medicines.”

Gaius couldn’t help but cast a glance down at the manacles clasped around his wrists, and thought of his friends, clapped in irons and squeezed together in the dungeons below. He looked up at Uther with a hard stare.

“Will others be given the same choice, sire?”

“...of course. Those who renounce the use of magic will be spared. So will you, if you just speak the words now.”

He could save himself. It would be easy. He even opened his mouth, but the words were like book-paste in his mouth and he could not release them.

At Gaius silence, he saw hurt betrayal twist in the kings mad eyes, before it was replaced by a calm sympathy. He lay a heavy gloved hand on Gaius shoulder.

“Of course. Forgive me, Gaius. This hold on you has been strengthened by years of deception; it will take time to cure. But I will help you. I will stay with you on your path to salvation.”

He gestured to the guards who grabbed a tight hold of each of Gaius’ arms, holding him firmly in place as a man walked out of the shadows by the throne. In his hands, he held a collar. He held it almost like he was afraid it would bite him, and even from where he was kneeling, Gaius could feel the wretched energy leaking from the thing. He started to shake as it got nearer, struggling against the guards.

“No...sire, please, I beg of you- Uther-“

Uther’s face was hard and unmoving as Gaius’ head was held in place and the collar prepared.

“You will thank me in the future. I will not lose you to this, old friend.”

As the collar snapped around his neck, Gaius screamed.

 

*

 

He was locked in his quarters, only allowed out to relieve himself under escort. Someone else had taken over his physicians duties and he wondered if he would ever be allowed to regain them. The loss of his magic stung him deeply - old aches returned with a vengeance, arthritis plagued him. He always felt cold, even with a fire crackling in his hearth. Worse, was the emptiness. It felt like starving, but no food could erase the yawning hunger. His fingers bled from where he'd tried to claw the collar off, leaving deep gauges in his neck.

His quarters looked out onto the courtyard - Uther had moved him there years ago as a birthday present when Gaius had told him he liked to watch the comings and goings of the castle visitors, the elaborate arrivals of plush companies from foreign states. Now, the windows overlooked screaming men and women and children, as they shrieked and pleaded for mercy from the flames. Gaius had tried to watch them, to give them that last dignity, but he always ended up curled up in bed, hands clamped over his ears, the collar an icy brand against his skin.

Uther visited. Every other day he would make his way to Gaius’ chambers, and he would talk. It was almost like old days, before Arthur, before Nimueh, before Ygraine. He would speak to Gaius about the state of outlying villages, rotating castle staff, the petty squabbles of the court.

He made comments on how quiet Gaius was, when before he had no compunction about speaking his mind and opinion to the King, and on how he was losing weight. Gaius' replies were short and tepid - if they held a hint of rebuke, Uther would switch from friend to foe in seconds. A few times he had struck the older man in anger, before quickly returning to the sympathetic friend he pretended to be. He would ask the (imposter) court physician to tend to Gaius' new bruises while he sat on a chair in the corner, watching, sipping wine or picking at the food Gaius had left behind from breakfast. He would gently admonish Gaius.

“I wish you would not provoke me so, Gaius. But I understand; to sweat out a fever one must first succumb to delirium.”

In these moments Gaius would hate Uther. He would give in to that dark well of anger and pain and loathing. But then he would remember the grief that poured off his friend at Ygraines death, the tortured, guilty wails he had let out onto Gaius shoulder, the tender way he held the baby Arthur, as though all that was sacrificed for him rendered him as fragile as glass.

So Gaius would only dip his head.

“Forgive me, sire.”

As the visits came to their end, Uther would turn to him, and ask,

“Will you renounce magic now, my friend?”

And at Gaius silence, would only offer a thin, sad smile and shut the door. Until next time.

 

*

 

Friend, friend. Uther spoke like this to Gaius often, but he could never say it back. Not any more. Not friend, nor his name, for he could not forget the last time he had begged Uther by name, on his knees, before the king had submitted him to this torture. He supposed he should be grateful he had not joined the hundreds of innocents in the flames, but he also wondered, as the days stretched on, why Uther stayed the sentence. Ygraine had died on the last days of spring, and now winter sleet spattered against his window. Gaius could not bring himself to betray his friends, his teachings, such an intrinsic way of his being, yet he was still alive, yet Uther still came to him and called him friend. He still wore his prison about his neck, and he had not seen the castle hallways in almost a year.

One day was different.

A young guard came to his door and ordered him to come with him. The guard also passed him his round medicine bag, given to him as a gift for completing his apprenticeship from his master, stocked as he left it so long ago. Silently Gaius had been led through the castle - little has been changed of course, the old foundations would not shake or shiver even in the face of the horrors that year had brought. Every treat of his soft boots seemed to echo around the halls.

It did not take long for Gaius to figure out where they were going, and sure enough they arrived at Uthers rooms post-haste.

The guard (Beda, Gaius remembered), stayed outside of the door as Gaius entered. He hadn’t glanced at the man the entire trip, almost acting as though Gaius didn’t exist. He didn’t blame him. Gaius was the only magic-user, though powerless, who remained in Camelot, at least openly. To associate oneself with such a figure was asking for dangerous accusations to be levelled. The magic hysteria that had sprung up around the towns had brought more than one innocent life to the pyre, Gaius suspected. Best to keep one’s head down and mouth from even speaking the word if one wished to see the spring again.

Uther no longer resided in the Royal Bedchamber – it was a room he had shared with his wife, and now he had shut those chambers off, barred with great slabs of timber. Instead, his bedchamber was now down the hall of the original, and when Gaius entered, he expected to see the King pacing, or staring out of the window.

Instead, Uther was perched on the edge of the bed, with baby Arthur in his arms, trying frantically to hush the screaming infant in his arms. When he looked up, his eyes were harried and his face pale.

“Gaius.” He spoke, and that one word was a plea for his help. Gaius almost entertained the notion of refusing him, of walking away, of inviting the sword or fire and finally ending this strange stalemate Uther had begun. But Arthur was wailing, and Gaius was never one to allow an innocent to suffer.

He made his slow way to Uther’s side and sat on the edge of the bed beside him. He made a motion for the baby.

“May I, sire?”

“Of course.” Uther handed over Arthur with clear reluctance. Gaius made sure to hold the surly baby with great care; he’d treated quite a few infants in his time, even had wished for a child himself (and at that he wondered where Alice was, whether she knew of his confinement. He tried not to think of her too much, tried not to think that maybe she had already met her end while he had been sleeping or feeling sorry for himself).

He made the cursory checks for fever, rashes, throat infections.

“Has the wet-nurse had any illnesses or sickness recently?” He asked.

“I…do not believe so. The physician has made no mention of it.” In his head, Gaius took note of this – Uther had obviously not been checking up on Arthur recently. He hoped the man wasn’t isolating his son for some self-pitying reason.

As Gaius placed gentle hands on his head to check for bumps, Arthur whimpered pitifully. Gaius made soothing noises and then realized the problem.

“He has an ear-infection, my lord.” He declared, his hand supporting one side of Arthur’s head, but avoiding his right ear, where the pain would be the most acute. Uther’s eyes widened.

“Is it serious? How do we cure it? Will he die-“

“Sire, it is a very common problem amongst infants. It comes from moisture being trapped in the ear, usually from baths or excessively damp weather.” He gestured with his head to the window, where rain pattered against the window. The look Uther shot the weather was dark, as though he wanted desperately to run a raincloud through with his sword for what it had done to his son.

“I prescribe a treatment of water boiled with Devil’s Claw once a day. It need not be much, young Arthur still need’s mother’s milk for the time being, but it will ease the pain he feels. There is no immediate treatment, but the nurse should ensure his ear is kept dry and that he is held upright for a while to allow the fluid to drain. She should not attempt to put anything in his ear, but wipe the excess fluid off when she can.” He said, already rummaging in his bag with one hand, Arthur propped up on his knee and in the crook of one elbow. He removed a small vial of thin, hooked plant stems. There was not a lot, for the herb needed to be imported from the land of Africa, which took a lot of time and a lot of money. But it was for the King’s son, and so Gaius handed the vial to Uther, who put it on the bedside table.

Gaius handed the baby back, and as Uther held him upright instead of laying down, his son quietened, snuffling a few times.

Uther looked over to Gaius with such gratefulness, he could almost believe Uther to be the same reckless young man Gaius had secretly treated for cracked ribs, received from fooling around with his father’s knights, so the prince wouldn’t have to tell his father Constantine that he’d been slacking off.

He could almost believe it, if it weren’t for cold metal pressing around his throat as he swallowed.

“Thank you, Gaius. I am glad there is at least one loyal member of my court I can turn to. I am glad I did not lose you to.”

 Gaius looked at Uther then, at Arthur in his arms. He thought of his little sister Hunith, courting a Dragonlord, of Alice with her magical remedies. He thought of his boyhood friends, of their days lazing around in haystacks using sorcery to mischievously stir up horses to throw off their riders. He did not know who was alive, or who was dead. And even if he did, what use was he to them, locked away in his rooms, mourning figures of his imagination. With his medicines, he could save the sick, with his position in court, he could save the damned. He could do none of this with Uther shutting his door upon him.

He looked Uther straight in his eyes, and tucked every scrap of resentment deep into his soul, where it snarled, subdued.

“You will never lose me, my lord. Not even to magic. I serve only you, Uther Pendragon.”

Uther smiled.


End file.
